


Before There Was a Name

by mokuyoubi



Series: Elf 'Verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Best Friends, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before There Was a Name

_“No. Ryan and I have known each other forever. We met when we were little kids. We started dating when he graduated from high school. We’d planned on rooming together since we first started talking about college, but once we started…” He’d meant to say sleeping together, but thought that might be too forward for Brendon. “Once we started seeing each other romantically, it wasn’t even a question._

Spencer had maybe been in love with Ryan from the time he understood what that meant. 

Well. Maybe that was a little bit of a stretch. 

In eighth grade, Spencer had his first kiss. It was with Alison Hill after a Christmas concert, hiding in the shadow behind the school. She had braces and wouldn’t stop shivering even though it wasn’t that cold, and Spencer didn’t know where to put his hands. When it was over, he couldn’t even look her in the eye. He went home and called Ryan, who hummed and made unhelpful, unsympathetic comments all the while. 

He ‘dated’ Stacey for about two months. It was dating in the loosest sense of the word, Spencer was pretty sure. Stacey’s mom was crazy protective and wouldn’t let her go out alone with boys. 

Most of their dates consisted of Ryan, and about four other girls and guys from school at a movie theatre or crowding in booths at Pizza Hut. It probably should have said something that regardless of whether or not Stacey was on one side, Ryan was always on the other. 

They kissed maybe twice before Stacey, in a strange fit of pique, confronted Spencer in the cafeteria, tore his yearbook picture into tiny pieces, and threw it in his face. “I guess this means we’re over,” he said dryly to Ryan, sprinkling the pieces on Ryan’s bed. 

Ryan flicked him in the forehead and rolled his eyes, which Spencer supposed was all that he could hope for. Spencer couldn’t help hoping for more, though. 

*

It wasn’t until Spencer was fourteen and Ryan was fifteen, and Ryan got his first serious girlfriend that Spencer really understood that love wasn’t this weird, uncomfortable feeling he got around whatever girl he was dating. 

It was the way he could lay for hours with his head on Ryan’s lap staring at the way Ryan’s fingers cradled the book he was reading. And Ryan could be reading aloud, voice lulling Spencer to sleep, or it could just be silent, and it didn’t matter, Spencer was never bored, always content. 

It was the way they could lie in bed after the lights had gone out, sharing whispered words like secrets—questions about religion and life and love, and serious discussions on the potential of alien life, and magic, or sometimes just making up stories back and forth until the sun crept through the blinds and it was seven in the morning and the rest of the world was stirring, but they fell asleep in their private little cocoon of warmth, hands clasped together between their chests. 

It was the way they could get into epic battles over the last of his mother’s chocolate chip cookie dough (“Which I didn’t say I was done with, boys!”) that sometimes ranged outside and involved itchy grass in uncomfortable places, or sometimes ranged upstairs and involved pillow fights that ruined the twins’ new feather pillows, but always ended with them in a breathless pile of limbs, licking the same spoon back and forth. 

It was the way Spencer could tell Ryan anything, _anything_ , and Ryan wouldn’t judge him. Tell him _anything_ , except this, this new revelation that made his skin feel too hot and tight. He _wouldn’t_ tell Ryan this because he wouldn’t let it tear them apart. 

Ryan went to Homecoming with his new girlfriend and Spencer stood in the shower until the hot water ran out, refusing to cry, feeling simultaneously _so full_ of love for Ryan and achingly empty with longing. It was not something he wanted to feel; no wonder Ryan was forever writing poetry about how badly it hurt. 

*

By the time Spencer turned seventeen, he had pretty much decided he was never going to say anything to Ryan about the whole… _love_ thing. Ryan had dated more girls than Spencer could keep track of. He wasn’t even sure if _Ryan_ remembered all their names. But it made it perfectly clear that Ryan liked _girls_. Not slightly pudgy, socially awkward _male_ best friends. 

If he thought it quickly, skimmed over it, it didn’t even hurt so much anymore. Spencer had done his own fair amount of dating. He’d even gotten halfway to third base with Mandy Simon at the Hallowe’en festival, before a wave of guilt hit him so hard he’d almost got sick and had to run off and _never look her in the eye again._

Ryan hadn’t let him hear the end of that one for about three months. Spencer, when he was trying to fall asleep, liked to pretend there had been some cattiness to Ryan’s tone, when he talked about it. 

Spencer wasn’t necessarily pessimistic, or a defeatist, but he knew when things weren’t going to happen how he wanted them to. Ryan was going away to college. Which, okay, meant moving into a dorm that was about a twenty minute drive from Spencer’s house. So. 

But the point was, Spencer knew what happened in dorms. Ryan had been hooking up pretty much since his dick started working, but now he had the freedom to do it whenever he wanted—no father or nosy best friend to worry about. 

Spencer tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed. They hadn’t seen a lot of each other throughout the summer. They’d both gotten part time jobs and Ryan had suggested they give the band a break so he could focus on his studies. The last time Ryan had slept over was a few days before his classes started, in celebration of Spencer’s 17th birthday. 

At least before he left for school, Ryan still _called_ everyday and texted Spencer seventy-billion times, besides. Except then, somewhat predictably, Ryan began radio silence the day he checked in for orientation, despite all his promises to come hang out every day like he always had. 

It lasted a month before Spencer got a text. _Party at the Delta’s. Come be my date?_

There was no reason for Spencer to get excited about it. In fact, he should have been pissed. He _was_ pissed. Like it would have hurt Ryan to make any attempt to communicate earlier. Spencer didn’t even understand why Ryan would want to go to some frat party. He was pretty sure that all that happened there was drinking and sex, and while Ryan was a big fan of the latter, he was really weird about the former, and tried to avoid being around alcohol at all costs. 

That didn’t mean Spencer didn’t _go_. He went alright. In his new jeans that showed how much not spending the summer playing video games had done for his figure. He’d never be Ryan-skinny, but at least he’d gotten rid of most of his baby fat. He went to Ryan’s fucking party, and he planned to pick up some sorority girl and show Ryan how much he _didn’t care_. 

Except then Ryan was really way too drunk to appreciate the new look. Like, stumbling into things, falling on his ass, five seconds from hurling all over the really nice carpet drunk. Spencer got his arms under Ryan’s pits, and for someone so skinny, Ryan was really fucking heavy, and also, not a very cooperative drunk. 

Spencer managed to get them onto the back porch before Ryan started spilling the contents of his stomach. They looked to be mostly liquid. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed Ryan’s back and said “Jesus Christ, Ryan, what the fuck?” 

Ryan’s answer wasn’t so much comprehensible, garbled as it was by the vomiting of everything he’d ever eaten ever. Spencer brushed Ryan’s hair out of his face and got him Gatorade and when the worst of it was over, helped Ryan back to his dorm. 

They had to stop along the way for Ryan to be sick over the curb. Spencer hauled them onto a bench and Ryan laid his head on Spencer’s lap, moaning pitifully. “What happened to your stomach?” Ryan asked, pouting like Spencer had just killed a puppy or something. Ryan poked at Spencer’s belly for effect, frown growing. “Where’s the soft?” 

Spencer batted his hand away and decided they’d had enough of a rest. He stood, and totally didn’t even feel sorry about Ryan’s soft “ow” when his head hit the bench. “Come on,” Spencer said, grabbing Ryan’s arm hard and tugging him along. 

“I’ve got something I have to tell you,” Ryan said, when they were back in his room. He had insisted on a single for his first year, though he’d promised Spencer they’d share when Spencer graduated. That promise, made when they’d still spent every day together, seemed distant and painful to remember. 

Ryan didn’t seem _as_ drunk, probably since he’d thrown up most of the alcohol, but it was relative thing. Not as drunk as he had been was still really fucking drunk. He just wasn’t falling over anymore. He was swaying a little, though, every time coming closer and closer to Spencer. His breath smelled sour. 

Spencer bit his lip against a hundred pissy responses and grabbed Ryan’s pyjamas from the closet. He started undressing Ryan, maybe a little more roughly than was necessary, tearing Ryan’s shirt over his head. 

“Spence,” Ryan said, swallowing hard. He put his hands on Spencer’s arms, steadying himself, or stopping Spencer, it didn’t matter. Spencer wanted to shake the touch off. 

“Why don’t you tell me something?” Spencer snapped. “Why don’t you tell me why you bothered calling me tonight? I mean, maybe it is my fault. After all, I did stop trying to text you after three days worth of texts went unanswered. Maybe that was a little premature.” 

“Spence,” Ryan repeated. His eyes were so wide. Spencer hated that he was in love with this asshole. 

“Say something to make it better, Ryan,” he whispered. “Make it better that you didn’t call until you needed someone to come clean your drunk ass off the floor.” And then he said it, and he knew he shouldn’t, but it felt so good, so _righteous_ , when he spat, “You look like your fucking father.” 

Ryan sucked in a sharp breath and sat down heavily on his bed. Spencer threw the sleep clothes on the bed beside him and stormed out of the room. 

Spencer’s anger lasted the twenty minutes it took him to drive home, and then he just felt like he was going to be as sick as Ryan had been. He turned his phone over and over in his hand, not even sure how to _begin_ to apologise for something like what he’d said. He and Ryan had never gotten into any real fights before, never anything serious, never anything that needed more than shoulders bumped together and mumbled apologies followed by shy smiles. 

Spencer was sick of being seventeen. He was sick of being a senior. Everyone talked about how great it was, but he just wanted to go back to having his best friend always around, and he’d even stop thinking about the stupid _love_ thing if it would just mean that he’d never said something so hateful and cruel as he had to _Ryan_. 

The next day Spencer holed up in the crawlspace above the garage. It had been their place, his and Ryan’s, as small children, until Ryan had gotten his first growth spurt and couldn’t stand up straight anymore. There were things left behind from their time spent there—blankets, a lamp, a fan, and scattered books, including one notebook of Ryan’s from around the age of nine, filled with really adorably horrible poetry and short stories. 

Spencer spent half the morning reading it, alternating between laughing, and crying helplessly because he didn’t know what had happened, how had it happened to him and Ryan, that this is where their friendship went, this was how it ended, not talking and words he didn’t even mean because Ryan could be slobbering drunk for the rest of forever and Spencer _wouldn’t care_ and Ryan would never be like his father…

“Hey.” 

Spencer’s head shot up and he wiped frantically at his tears, tucking the hair that had fallen in his face behind his ears. Ryan was half-way through the trap door, braced to haul himself up or go back down. 

“Hey,” Spencer said. 

“Can I come up?” Ryan asked. He looked tired, with purple circles under his eyes and his hair in a mess of waves. The shirt he had on looked like it had been lying on his floor for weeks. 

Spencer nodded and Ryan looked away, arms straining as he swung off the ladder, bringing his legs through the hole. It had been something they had perfected as kids, but it was a lot harder to do with longer limbs. Spencer found himself absently appreciating the way the muscles in Ryan’s arms stood out, the way Ryan twisted his body around to fit it through the door. Spencer _knew_ he was in love with Ryan, _knew_ he wanted him. It didn’t mean it ever stopped. Every time Spencer looked, it was there. 

Ryan crawled over on hands and knees, balancing on one of the beams. Spencer remembered when Ryan had used to walk across it on dainty feet, like a tightrope walker, swinging in and out between beams, dust and light swirling around like fireflies. And Spencer knew, then, that he’d always loved Ryan, even before he’d had words for the feeling. He couldn’t wait any longer. 

He reached out, grabbing Ryan by his shoulders and hauling him close. “Please, tell me it’s okay, tell me you know I didn’t mean it, Ryan, because I didn’t, if I could, I’d do anything to take it back, I love you so much, please.” 

Ryan clung back, all bones and somehow fitting just right against Spencer’s curves. It wasn’t any different than any other time they’d touched like this, except for the desperation in their touch, the way Spencer didn’t think he could let go no matter what. He buried his face in Ryan’s hair and curled his fingers in the fabric at Ryan’s waist and Ryan’s nails were biting into Spencer’s back, even through his shirt. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” Ryan whispered, and even now, with everything else, the warmth of his breath, the touch of his lips against Spencer’s throat made Spencer dizzy with want. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. I was so scared. I never want to be like him.” He sounded so close to tears and it made Spencer’s throat ache to think he was responsible for that. 

“You aren’t,” Spencer said fiercely. He pulled back, grabbing Ryan’s face between his hands in a rough grip and staring him in the eye. “You aren’t, I was so stupid to say it. I was upset and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t true.” 

Ryan looked different from how Spencer had ever seen him—more delicate. Ryan had been vulnerable to Spencer many times, in the years they’d known one another, this was new, somehow. Ryan opened his mouth hesitantly, closed it, and opened it again, licking his lips. Spencer couldn’t help but follow the movement with his gaze.

“I didn’t mean for it to go on so long,” Ryan whispered. “I meant to call you everyday, but I was scared. I—there’s something I need to tell you.” 

“You can tell me anything,” Spencer said earnestly. He tried to show Ryan he meant it with his eyes, open and understanding. He’d put all of himself out there, if that was what Ryan needed. 

Ryan took a deep breath and sat back on his heels, face slipping from Spencer’s grip. Ryan had been plenty of things throughout their friendship, but no matter what he’d been like with other people, he’d never been this shy, uncertain thing with Spencer. “You can tell me anything,” Spencer repeated, laying his hand on Ryan’s wrist. “Really _anything_ , Ryan.” 

Ryan laughed, bitterness tingeing the edges. He traced his nail over his palm, spelling out words Spencer couldn’t see. “Remember you said that, when…” 

“I _mean_ it,” Spencer said. He’d do anything to prove it, too. 

“Just remember,” Ryan said. He looked up at Spencer from under impossible lashes, eyes dark in the shadows and he reached out, hand sinking into Spencer’s hair. “Just remember,” he murmured, and tugged on Spencer’s hair while leaning forward. 

Spencer said, “Wait,” because he didn’t understand, and this couldn’t mean what he thought it did. His heart stepped up several notches and he was suddenly aware of all the places he was sweating and Ryan’s face was so close to his and this _couldn’t mean what Spencer thought it did_. 

“I love you, Spence,” Ryan murmured. “Like _really_ love you,” and their lips met. 

Spencer was frozen, couldn’t breathe. Ryan was—was all the things Spencer didn’t get to have—Ryan was beautiful and smart and sexy and talented and really _fucking_ experienced at getting who he wanted and he couldn’t possibly want Spencer. It seemed impossible that Ryan could mean what Spencer thought he did. 

Then Ryan pulled away, frowning, not meeting Spencer’s eye and said, “I’m sorry. If you don’t…Can we just pretend I didn’t just do that?” His mouth was a jagged line of disappointment and he looked breakable, curled in on himself. 

“What?” Spencer asked, because he couldn’t really come up with anything else. 

“I was—I mean, it’s alright you don’t feel the same, but if it’s okay with you—”

Spencer’s hold on Ryan’s wrist tightened and he fisted his other hand in Ryan’s shirt and jerked him forward. Ryan let out a startled sound that died against Spencer’s lips. And Spencer…

He’d kissed lots of girls. He’d almost run out of fingers to count the girls he’d kissed. But this, Ryan’s lips dry and soft against Spencer’s, this felt like the first kiss. Like Ryan’s touch erased every other that had come before. It was all Spencer could remember. All he wanted to remember. 

Ryan opened his mouth, teeth nibbling against Spencer’s lips. His wrist twisted in Spencer’s hold until their fingers were laced together, clinging, and Ryan shifted forward, spreading his legs so he could straddle Spencer’s lap, and suddenly they were close together, all the space between them gone, just Ryan’s chest pressed against Spencer’s, legs neatly tucked against Spencer’s hips, ass resting over Spencer’s groin. 

Spencer’s loosened his grip on Ryan’s shirt and finally let go, tracing his hand down Ryan’s ribs, over his waist. He parted his lips at Ryan’s insistence, sunk his tongue in Ryan’s mouth, tasting, learning. Ryan twisted and arched and his shirt rose, and Spencer was touching bare skin. His fingers flexed and he grabbed roughly, shoving his hand further up Ryan’s shirt, palming Ryan’s spine and pulling him even closer. 

And it all suddenly made sense, knowing Ryan like Spencer did. Ryan had lots of sex with lots of people, but it didn’t usually mean anything. Spencer had seen how badly it had ended the few times it _had_ meant something to Ryan. He _knew_ how Ryan always anticipated the worst, expected things to turn out wrongly. It made sense, in screwy Ryan logic, to just avoid the problem. 

Spencer pulled away from the kiss and Ryan whined—he actually _whined_ , butting his forehead against Spencer’s and tilting his chin to dip in for another kiss. Spencer stopped him, pressing his fingers against Ryan’s lips. “I’m not going to do this and have you give me the silent treatment all over again,” he warned. 

Ryan shook his head vehemently, pressed a kiss against Spencer’s fingers. “Don’t run away from this,” Spencer said. It wasn’t really a question or an order. “Don’t run away from me. I won’t let you ruin us, Ryan.” 

“I won’t, I don’t want to, Spencer,” Ryan said. He sounded breathless and needy, and there was _no way_ Spencer could be expected to stay strong in the face of that. He let Ryan nibble on his fingers a second longer before replacing his hand with his mouth. Ryan sighed and surged up against him again, and they were as close as they could get to each other, but it was like Ryan wanted _closer_. 

Spencer wanted Ryan closer, too, and he could think of some pretty definite ways to make it happen. He might have been having Technicolor dreams about it every night for the past four years. He hooked his fingers through Ryan’s belt loops and pushed his own hips up when he jerked down on Ryan’s. 

Ryan’s breath caught and he turned his head out of the kiss, which was totally okay, because he bared all the smooth, thin skin of his neck. Spencer set his teeth against the line of Ryan’s throat and Ryan groaned. He twisted his hips in a slow grind, mouth at Spencer’s ear, his cheek, whatever he could reach. 

“Can I?” Ryan asked, fingers on fastening of Spencer’s jeans and Spencer nodded blindly. Ryan’s fingers had always been a pretty big part of Spencer’s fantasy world. They couldn’t not be—Ryan playing guitar, Ryan writing, Ryan playing video games, all with those ridiculously long, skinny fingers all bone and thin skin and traced in blue veins and now they were pushing into Spencer’s boxers, brushing over his cock. 

Spencer let out a sharp breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His head fell back against the support beam and Ryan rose above him, covering Spencer’s mouth with his own, swallowing his sounds. His fingers closed around Spencer’s cock and began to pull. 

There was a moment of fear, sharp and bright and paralysing. It was like the floor had dropped out from beneath them and Spencer was in freefall and reality was about to come crashing down because this was _Ryan_ and his hand was on Spencer’s _dick_. This was the point where nothing was ever going to be the same again. 

And then Spencer realised that was a _good_ thing. He didn’t _want_ it to ever be the same again. He wanted this…this new thing between them, however it unfolded. 

Spencer’s hands scrabbled to undo Ryan’s jeans, remembered all the times he’d teased Ryan about going commando and now he was _so so glad_ because there was nothing between his hand and Ryan’s erection, hard and leaking against Spencer’s palm and Ryan wanted this just as much as he did. 

Ryan bit hard on Spencer’s lip and soothed it with his tongue. His wrist twisted on every upward stroke and he shifted his hips and then their fists were brushing each time they moved and if their hands weren’t in the way, their dicks would be touching and that was pretty much all it took, just the thought of their naked dicks rubbing together, and Spencer came, gasping for breath, sharing Ryan’s. 

It was better than he’d ever really thought it could be, just having another person touch him like this, but he wasn’t so naïve to think that didn’t have something to do with the fact that the other person was Ryan. 

For a second Spencer couldn’t move, hand falling still on Ryan’s dick, lips open and panting. Ryan kissed down his cheek, whispered something that sounded like _beautiful_ against Spencer’s throat, which was just _crazy_ , because if one of them was beautiful here, it was definitely Ryan. 

Spencer opened his eyes, tilting his face down for a kiss and Ryan gave it, so readily, so eagerly. His hips slid higher on Spencer’s lap, reminding Spencer that Ryan was hard and waiting as patiently as he could. It only took a few more strokes, and Spencer was vaguely surprised, because he would have thought Ryan, with all his experience, would have held out longer. 

But Ryan was coming in Spencer’s fucking hand, and there was just…nothing else in the world. Just Ryan’s face, open and so gorgeous all twisted up in pleasure, lip caught between his teeth, and this _sound_ , so raw and honest and different from anything Spencer had ever heard from him before. Spencer had made it happen. All he could feel was suffocating warmth spreading through his limbs that _he was the one that made Ryan come_. He could get addicted to this. He didn’t even think twice about bringing his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers, tasting. 

Ryan’s eyes flared and he kissed Spencer around his hand, teeth sharp, hungry little noises coming from the back of his throat. They forgot where they were, Spencer pushing Ryan onto his back and Ryan rolling them, and they gave up their precarious balance on the beam, landing hard on the drywall. Spencer’s elbow broke through, and Ryan’s foot, but the floor held long enough for them to roll back onto the beams. 

“My room,” Spencer said. Ryan nodded vaguely, a far away look on his face. The twins were in the backyard and his parents were out shopping. No one stopped them, which was probably good, because it was totally obvious what they’d been up to—sweaty and smudged in dirt and dust, lips bruised, covered in suspicious stains. 

When they stepped into Spencer’s room, everything seemed to close in. Spencer turned the lock and they stared at one another and the walls seemed too small. Because this was _Ryan_ , and what they had just done changed _everything_. He didn’t know how to act around this new Ryan. 

Then Ryan’s face started to close off, and Spencer knew this was the point. He either did the right thing or the wrong thing here, and he had to make the choice, because Ryan was ready to retreat. Spencer was used to being brave enough for the both of them. He reached for Ryan, and that was all Ryan needed, reaching back.

They crashed together, pulling at clothes, and after that, there was never a thought of _this is too much_ or _this is too fast_ , because they’d been on this same course for the past twelve years. Looking back, Spencer really should have found this inevitable. 

Having Ryan lain out naked on Spencer’s bed seemed like it had to be the pinnacle of his whole existence. He’d seen Ryan naked before, plenty of times, even since realising how much he _wanted_ Ryan. Spencer wasn’t a pervert and didn’t go around skeezing on Ryan when he changed just because he’d had the opportunity. He’d gotten glimpses, but had never been this—this open invitation to look. 

And Ryan knew how Spencer wanted to look, worked it for all he was worth. He twisted his spine, arching off the bed, throwing his torso in shadow and Spencer wanted to trace every plane, know the taste of every dip. And, well, Ryan _was_ really skinny, but there was more to him than that. There were lines of definition, muscles on his stomach that quivered when Spencer ran his fingers there, down, down…

Spencer let himself explore his favourite place with his mouth, taking his time, dragging his teeth lightly over the skin, licking and sucking and biting ‘til Ryan whined, put his hand in Spencer’s hair, ‘til Ryan’s skin turned red and purple under Spencer’s mouth. 

Spencer’s favourite place was where the light collected in Ryan’s collarbone, until it was the way his arm curved into his chest, until it was the way his skin stretched over his ribs, until it was the knobby jut of his hip until it was the sharp line of his pelvis leading Spencer to, yes, definitely his favourite part so far, and Ryan was hard for him again, red and leaking and his hips twitched up when Spencer breathed hard through his nose. 

Spencer never thought he’d be in this place, and it was more than a little intimidating, because what if he choked or bit down or did something else horrible and unsexy and wrong and Ryan decided that sex was never going to happen again? 

“You don’t,” Ryan said and paused, taking a deep breath. His fingers were gentle in Spencer’s hair, rubbing his scalp in a familiar and reassuring manner. “You don’t have to Spence, really.” And Spencer knew Ryan meant it. Would probably mean it forever, as long as Spencer had a doubt. 

Except, as scary as it was, as much as Spencer had never really thought about being in this position (whatever, most of his fantasies had him on the _receiving_ end, thank you), he found he _wanted_ this. He wanted to know what Ryan felt like in his mouth. 

“I know,” Spencer answered. He kissed Ryan’s thigh, the muscle twitching at his touch. “I want to.” 

Ryan moaned, even before Spencer touched him, and if there had been any doubt remaining, that would have erased it. Spencer encircled the base of Ryan’s cock and sucked the tip between his lips. The taste was different from Ryan’s come, sharper, but after a few tastes, Spencer got used to it. He might even have liked it. 

Spencer sucked a few times, pausing each time to swirl his tongue around the head. He relaxed his jaw, like he’d read about on the internet and decided that Ryan may have gotten a more skilled blowjob before, but he would never have anyone who wanted him more, who was more enthusiastic about it. 

And, like, maybe he couldn’t have predicted it, but Spencer _loved_ sucking Ryan’s cock. It was going to take some practice to get very much in his mouth, but the _feel_ of it—smooth and hard, and every time Spencer did something right, he was met with a tangy rush of liquid on his tongue and Ryan’s soft whispers of “yesgodSpencerplease.” There was just something thrilling about knowing that this was as vulnerable as Ryan could make himself, physically, trusting his dick to Spencer’s mouth. 

Spencer wanted Ryan to come in his mouth. Maybe other people might be squeamish about it, but Spencer thought probably the only thing better than Ryan coming in his hand would be Ryan coming in his mouth. Ryan, apparently, had other thoughts on the matter, though. His grip turned tight in Spencer’s hair and he tugged up, said, “come here, Spence.” 

Spencer let him go reluctantly, kissing Ryan’s hip, his stomach, his sternum, his mouth. “I was having fun down there,” Spencer said, making his displeasure clear. 

Ryan laughed softly, and the sound was surprising, but welcome. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make it worth your while, coming up here.” He purred, and Spencer had thought it was a figure of speech, that a voice could sound like sex, but Ryan’s did. He rolled Spencer under him, his kiss a promise. 

Ryan broke away with a smirk before sinking down Spencer’s body and Spencer wanted to protest, but the “no fair” died on his lips when Ryan swallowed him down all the way, nose against Spencer’s skin. “Fuck, shit, Ryan.” His hips thrust up all on their own and he thought wildly that he was going to kill Ryan with his cock, and that was going to be a damn shame, but Ryan’s throat just sort of closed around the head of Spencer’s cock and he _sucked_. 

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” Spencer demanded, when Ryan pulled back, because it was slightly better than demanding that Ryan get back to work. 

“It gets better,” was all Ryan said, and Spencer wasn’t sure that was possible until Ryan leaned over to Spencer’s bedside table. Yeah, they both knew what was there, but Ryan had never brought it up before, saving them the mutual embarrassment. It wasn’t embarrassing now, though, watching Ryan sit back on his heels, straddling Spencer’s legs, pouring lube into the palm of his hand. 

Spencer just watched, letting his hands fall on Ryan’s hips. He liked the way his hands fit there. If he stretched, his fingers met in the small of Ryan’s back. His thumb brushed back and forth across the skin of Ryan’s hipbone. This could go two pretty different ways right now, but he was willing to follow Ryan either way. 

Ryan spread his legs wider, sitting up in his knees, and reached between his thighs, gasping breathlessly when he sank a finger inside himself. Spencer pushed up on his elbows, hands tightening. His fingers itched to be there in place of Ryan’s and he had to tell himself _later, later, there will be time later_. 

“I haven’t done this with anyone else, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ryan panted, working a second finger in alongside the first. 

It hadn’t been what Spencer was thinking, but only because he refused to let himself think along those lines. Still, it was a relief to hear it. “Good,” he said, and Ryan gave him a fierce smile, like Spencer felt. 

Ryan slipped his fingers free and wrapped his hand around Spencer’s cock, getting him slick. He slid his hips up, with intent, and Spencer’s grip tightened again. “Aren’t you…don’t you have something? A condom, I don’t…I don’t have…”

“Spence,” Ryan said, voice gentle, but in that way he got sometimes, like he was indulging his idiot best friend. “I know you’ve never done this before.” 

Spencer’s pride wanted to be really offended, but it was the truth, and they both knew it. They told each other everything. So much, that Spencer knew Ryan’s dick had been in some pretty questionable places. His face must have shown his unease, because Ryan’s expression softened. “I’m clean,” he said. “And I hope I’m not going to be doing this with anyone else, ever.” 

Spencer wasn’t stupid, and lines like that never would have worked on him. Only, it was Ryan, and Ryan would never do anything to hurt him, he knew it. Ryan probably wouldn’t have let Spencer go down on him without a condom, if there was any doubt.

“I can get something,” Ryan offered, already sliding back on his heels. “I’ve got a condom. I just wanted—” he trailed off, cheeks flushing, and moved to swing his leg off Spencer. 

“Wait,” Spencer said. “It’s okay. I trust you.” 

Ryan settled back in place, blush growing darker, spreading down his neck and throat, and he scooted up Spencer’s body, getting on his knees again, positioning himself. Spencer grabbed his cock, held it still, guided it while Ryan lowered himself—slowly at first, just an inch at a time, and Spencer forced his hips to stay flat against the bed because he wasn’t going to hurt Ryan. 

Then Ryan shifted his hips at a different angle and the slide was easier, smoother. And _fuck_ he was tight—tighter than Spencer could imagine, having only his hand for comparison, but seriously, he didn’t know how he could even _fit_. Ryan rested, ass against Spencer’s thighs, letting out a sigh that wasn’t all pleasure and not all pain. “You okay?” Spencer asked. 

Ryan’s eyes fluttered open and he nodded. His breath came out shakily. “I’m good,” he said. He rocked his hips forward, just a little, and Spencer couldn’t stop from moving then, pushing up into the tight heat. 

“Sorry,” Spencer said quickly, hips falling back against the bed when Ryan hissed. It wasn’t easy, when all he wanted to do was roll Ryan under him and just _fuck_ him. 

“No!” Ryan said. His hands fell on Spencer’s shoulder and he leaned down for a kiss. “It’s good. That was a good sound.” 

Spencer grinned into another kiss. He shifted his hips up and when Ryan kept kissing through another soft moan, Spencer took that as permission. It was a little awkward in that position, Ryan’s cock trapped between their bodies, their hips limited to small, tight circles. 

Ryan sat up, leaned back with his hands on Spencer’s legs for balance and that was nice. The angle was easier and he was spread out, open for Spencer to see everything, and touch. He grabbed Ryan’s cock, pumping in time to the slow rise and fall of Ryan’s hips. 

“I—I think I could get used to this,” Ryan whispered. 

Spencer wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat. It came out, “I love you,” instead. The smile Ryan gave him, honest and so purely happy, made it worth it. Spencer would say it forever, just to see that smile. 

There was something about the whole thing, surreal and perfect, and Spencer thought maybe it was right that their first time was here in his room, the place where most of the important things in their lives had occurred. This was their final secret to share, the biggest, the most important, the secret they’d never give away. 

Ryan rode Spencer, harder, faster, until the springs were squeaking under his knees and the headboard was brushing the wall on every downward thrust and there was no way anyone in the house could mistake these noises, but Spencer couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Spencer said, “please, Ryan,” and Ryan kissed him, catching the sounds Spencer made as he came apart, thrusting his hips helplessly, emptying himself in Ryan’s body. Ryan kept rocking against him and Spencer sped up his hand until Ryan’s chin fell to his chest and he spilled all over Spencer’s chest, and maybe Spencer had a kink for being come on, because Ryan’s come striping over Spencer’s skin was really fucking hot. 

They lay in bed a long time, just talking. Spencer had always liked cuddling with Ryan, but it was even better without clothes in the way, just miles and miles of Ryan’s skin, soft and warm and pressed close. All there for Spencer to touch. And he couldn’t stop touching—hands splayed on Ryan’s hips, fingers trailing down Ryan’s spine, tangling in his hair, and stopping words with kisses whenever he felt like it. Ryan just _melted_ at every touch, giving and giving.

Ryan whispered apologies about not calling or texting, explaining what Spencer had already sort of figured out for himself. His fingers tapped nervously over Spencer’s collarbone until Spencer caught them and pressed a kiss to the tips and made his own apologies, because Spencer was supposed to _know_ when Ryan needed him. He wasn’t supposed to let a few unanswered texts fuck with twelve years of friendship. He’d never make the mistake again. Then again, he didn’t think Ryan would ever try to ignore him again.

There were other things Spencer wanted to say, to make sure Ryan understood that Spencer _never_ saw Ryan as George, never even considered it a possibility. Which wasn’t to say he wanted Ryan to spend his entire college experience slobbering drunk… 

But Spencer didn’t see the problem with Ryan enjoying himself and it wasn’t fair to let Ryan go on thinking he’d been worse than he was when, really, at least half the people at the party had ended up the same way. Maybe they could drink together, figure out their limits, make sure Ryan never got sick like that again. But that could wait for later, because Spencer figured that was a bigger hurdle than he was prepared to jump just now. 

When they came down for dinner, cleaned and in fresh clothing, no one said anything, and Spencer thought maybe they’d been lucky enough to finish before his parents had gotten home, before the twins had come inside. Spencer spent most of the meal tugging at the collar of his shirt to keep his bruises covered, and the rest of the time staring wistfully at Ryan’s lips. 

His relief lasted until the end of dinner when everyone began to gather their plates. “I saw the strangest thing when I came home today,” his mother remarked casually. “There are a bunch of dents in the ceiling of the garage. Like someone was rolling around up there.” 

“That is so strange,” Spencer’s dad said, all faux confusion and sly smirks at in Spencer and Ryan’s direction. 

“Definitely inexplicable,” Spencer’s mom agreed around a smile. 

Spencer thought he might die from embarrassment. Luckily the twins were young enough that it all flew over their heads. “We didn’t do it, honest,” Crystal said, eyes wide and earnest. 

“I’m sorry Mom, Dad,” Ryan said, and despite everything it still gave Spencer a swooping rush of pride to hear Ryan call them that. 

“We’ll pay for it,” Spencer said, keeping his eyes shut tight so he didn’t have to see their faces any more. “We totally will,” he agreed. 

“That’s alright. You boys can just help me fix it when you get back tomorrow,” Spencer’s dad said lightly. “And maybe we can do something about that mouse I heard upstairs earlier.” 

Spencer just wanted the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Ryan, on the other hand, didn’t know when to shut up. “When we get back?” he asked. 

“Honestly,” Spencer’s mother said, dismissively, “doesn’t Ryan have a whole dorm room you boys can go trash, instead of my house?” She and Spencer’s father went into the kitchen, no doubt to laugh hysterically at Spencer’s plight. 

“There are _mice_ upstairs?” Jackie asked, voice pitched for a squeal, should any mouse appear. 

“I can never return home again,” Spencer bit out. 

“Your parents pretty much just gave us their explicit permission to go have dorm sex,” Ryan whispered, and then had the audacity to _laugh_ , mouth pressed against Spencer’s throat. 

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed glumly, “maybe they figured they’d embarrassed us enough for one lifetime with that whole joint sex talk they gave us when you turned thirteen.” 

“I learned my lesson,” Ryan said loftily. 

Spencer eyed him incredulously. “You’ve had sex with half the state,” he hissed. 

Ryan shrugged. “They say it isn’t really good until you’re in love.” 

Spencer shouldn’t have been mollified by that. But he was best friends with Ryan Ross. He supposed he had different standards than most.


End file.
